THIS IS A 100 WORDS CONTEST ENTRY
A short story about a stalker/spy and what it's like to be her for two hours.
She sat tentatively, crouched behind the sweeping vines of the Jasmine flowers and leaves, hoping their viridescent camouflage would mask her presence. This was not a time for heedless errors; everything even remotely related to the mission would have to be in exact order. Gradually, with no sudden jerks of the body or nervous impulses, she drew out a 3-inch notepad, for every detail must be recorded in an operation such as this. Her legs began to ache after two hours. So she stayed for another fifteen minutes. And then she left, just as sneakily as she had arrived.